


Broadcast Interrupted [ON HOLD]

by lemonfizzies



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: And a lot of ridiculousness, Angst, Clockwork Julian AU, Definitely some heavy themes, Gen, It's like that cheesy horror movie plot where everyone dies one by one ahahah, Mild Gore, The question is: HOW and HOW MANY BEFORE SOMEONE FIGURES IT OUT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonfizzies/pseuds/lemonfizzies
Summary: DISCONTINUED AS OF 06.15.17______As the Eiffel Tower begins to shut down in every sense of the word, the crew of the most popular radio show in the world is trapped within its walls, pitted for survival against the most unlikely of assailants: an automated maintenance droid by the name of Julian. Can the crew fix the tower before the Orbiting Human Circus goes off-air for good? And just WHAT is that Janitor after?[ clockwork!julian au belongs entirely to me]





	1. Opening

Host John Cameron stared in horror at the unchanged interior of his dressing room. He'd shut and opened the door seven times now, to no effect, his chest tightening with each successive attempt until he reached the dreaded conclusion:  
There was no act waiting for him inside.  
The stage manager, a certain Leticia Saltier, had already moved the Orchestral's cage into position. Jacques and Pierre were undoubtedly prepping the wings for the evening lineup, as any self-respecting stagehands would be.The audience had already begun milling about the ballroom. Every actor fulfilling their role like a well-oiled machine, and John Cameron? He had done nothing but gape into an empty room for the past two minutes.  
Fighting desperately against rising panic, John slammed the door shut, finally releasing the knob as he staggered back into the opposite wall.  
There was no act. None! Nothing but an empty dressing room. But there was always an act! Always!  
Well...Not always.  
Rationally, he knew what he had to do, what he loathed to admit and what he was actively trying to avoid by refusing to accept the unchanged landscape of his dressing room.  
He needed to find that blasted Janitor.  
Setting his teeth, Cameron scowled at the placard next to the doorjamb, mentally running through all the places he had learned to check over the years (if not in search of the man himself, then to remove him bodily from a troublesome location). Most had already been searched for wayward acts but there remained a few odd vents and closets, which Cameron generally found claustrophobic enough to avoid.  
____________  
"John!" Leticia hissed, knocking on the door to the Host's dressing room. He was three minutes overdue for places, with only ten left till showtime. Leticia knew that John frequently stumbled upon the Circus's acts near his dressing room, often cutting it quite close to the opening, but this was ridiculous!  
"John Cameron, get onstage zis instant!"  
Receiving still no reply, Leticia turned and made a beeline for Pierre, worriedly pacing the vacant left wing.  
"Ze key." She requested, palm-up and extended expectantly. The man halted, confusion settling into his features.  
"I gave it to Jacques."  
Leticia started to argue, I gave it to YOU, but she realized she had no time to waste on details. She'd give him her two-cents after the show.  
"Key." She demanded curtly after arriving in the (also VACANT) right wing. Jacques jumped and quickly dropped the edge of the curtain from behind which he'd been watching the gathering audience.  
"Key? What key?" He asked, instinctively reaching for the ring on his belt. It was empty, save for three small keys completely unfit for any door in the tower. "I don't got no key."  
Leticia looked ready to murder, and the man quickly amended his statement.  
"You could try askin' the Janitor? He's gotta be gettin' in all the rooms somehow."  
Leticia glowered, not particularly at Jacques but not quite beyond him, either.  
"If zis show is even one minute late, I'm pushing zem both off ze tower myself."

Meanwhile, perched aloft the tower's girders and in danger of falling with or without the stage manager's help, the Janitor found himself in the first of countless ensuing arguments with his own Narrator.  
"It won't work!" He all but shouted against a rare evening gale, unable to block his ears as he clung to the slick metal with both arms. "There has to be something else!"  
Yet, with one ear pressed to the surface, the Janitor could not ignore the pain within the wailing creak of the tower's metal frame. The voice of the tower, crashing in through audio fragments snipped up from round the world, began ringing painfully in his ears, upsetting the sensitive equipment buried in his head and rattling the finely-tuned instruments that made his clockwork body tick. This was grave. The tower had not directly spoken to him like this in years, and it only said that his Narrator had been installed for a reason. It would do well to mind his programming.  
The Janitor jerked his head back in shock and disgust. He wanted nothing to do with the violent task set out by his Narrator. The very thought of what lay ahead - for he knew there was no way he could truly reject the tower and its will - turned his stomach so that he attempted to bury his face once more in the merciless tower beam. The frigid metal seemed almost to burn him, the Narrator growing increasingly exasperated the longer the Janitor scrambled to ignore his commands.  
"Please, don't...don't make...me..." He pleaded silently, clinging to the beam full stop despite the growing hum that signalled the onset of another Narrative override. He knew he would be forced to let go of the beam, to climb back into the ballroom - completely devoid of magic for the first time since the Grand Opening Broadcast - and repair the Tower by any means necessary. Of course he would. The Janitor's duty is, above all else, to maintain his Tower. It is his sole purpose, the command written into even his most basic source code, hidden in a small chip at the base of his spine.


	2. The Inception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of foreshadowing, a bit of dynamic

John desperately pumped the metal bar on the exterior of the Janitor's closet door, but the mechanism didn't catch.

"Confound it - !" he hissed through clenched teeth, desperately scrambling to maintain composure. He could never get rid of the thing and then suddenly when he needed it!

John pushed from the bar one final time, but the door remained solidly shut. He crumbled where he stood, draping himself unceremoniously along the length of the door.

"Goddamnit." He whispered softly, voice cracking. "I need a raise."

John pressed his forehead into the cool metal of the door and began to speak rapidly into the space between his lips and the surface, voice barely reaching whispered volume.

"I didn't ask for this, oh no, who would ever ask for it? Nobody asks. That's just it! Nobody asks!"

John paused his soliloquy at the sound of a hissing, popping, ticking noise that always signaled the arrival of --

"Julian." John muttered, growled. If looks could kill, the android would have been dead the second John whipped his head around. "Damn overpriced - ! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

The Julian jerked to a halt. Host Cameron lurched to his feet.

"What did you do?"

John, receiving no satisfactory reply, began to advance upon him. The door to his dressing room had been left ajar, the act was missing, and that blasted machine was always breaking into his room to "clean" it. John shoved the tin creature with both hands, furious and not quite in the right state of mind, judgement clouded by panic and desperation. The Julian stumbled, joints and hinges squeaking in protest at the sudden and unnatural movement. John felt some dim spark of satisfaction at that.

"What. Did. You. Do!"

The Julian tilted its head, confused. John was in no mood to explain.

"Listen, you bucket of bolts, I know you were in the dressing room again. For Chrissakes, you left the door open! I won't have it, do you hear me? I won't have it! So tell me right this second what you did with this evening's act or, so help me, I'll shut the whole Tower down and call the PBC myself to get you dismantled!"

John punctuated every sentence with a stiff poke to the Julian's chest, holding back a wince each time his finger crumpled against the metal surface, until he had finally backed the maintenance droid against the wall.  It didn't react much, merely backing away, until the moment John mentioned shutting down the tower. The Julian reacted violently, catching John's hand in its own and nearly crushing it in a vicelike grip.

"Not. *pop* The. *zzzt* T-T-Tower."

The sharp crack and static of the audio system made John take a step back, afraid there might be sparks flying at any moment. However, the droid still had him by the hand and he couldn't wrench out of its grasp.

"Let go of me, you-!"

"The T-Tower, Mis*szzztzzs*ter Cameron. Help."

"Help? Help?! I'm the reason this godforsaken program hasn't been canceled! Help! Of all the stupid, ignorant! Ugh! Without me, this place wouldn't have a leg to stand on!"

The Julian released him, apertures widening as it seemed to take in the full extent of his outburst. John rubbed his hand and glared at the Julian for a moment,  now wary of the previously pacifist machine. It seemed to be shaking its head, though that could have been yet another loose bolt on the pivot lock. The stupid thing always had to repair itself. Honestly, John didn't know why the PBC hadn't approved for the decommissioning of the damned thing yet. Falling apart at the seams.

"Godforsaken *whsisht* leg!"

John nearly jumped at the sound of his own voice being played back through the Julian's speakers, taking yet another step back.

"Stop that." he commanded, pulling at his jacket collar to try and hide the fact that he was genuinely disturbed. He hadn't ever known the thing could record sound before…

"I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU!!!"

Both John and the Julian turned at the sound of the stage manager's voice, equal candidates for the crime.

"Leti*ssszzt*sha?"

"JOHN CAMERON, IT IS TWO MINUTES TO SHOWTIME, YOU'RE LUCKY I DON'T RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB! AND YOU, Julian," here she switched to a softer tone of voice, seeing the droid practically hunker down against the wall. "I need your keys."

"K-K-Keys?"

"Yes, keys. You're ze janitor! You must have keys to get into all ze rooms….no?"

Leticia's face fell at the maintenance droid's lack of response.

"You don't have ze keys?"

The Julian shook its head.

"I'll kill him, I will, I'll string him up by his lying teeth!"

"Wh--? Now, Leticia, you can't be-"

Leticia held up her hand to silence the host.

"A joke, John. So I don't actually kill him."

"Ah, right, right."

Leticia more or less dragged John Cameron behind her to the stage, leaving the Julian alone with his Narrator.

"I don't want to." he quietly vocalized, shaking his head.

"The only reason this show hasn't been canceled!" echoed in retaliation.

"What about Leticia? And the stage hands?"

"RIP *bzzkt* LIMB FROM LIMB"

Julian was tired. He was tired, and the Narrator was winning. He picked up the large bucket and mop at the end of the hall, behind the door, and sighed, joints creaking. He'd need to replace the oil, soon.

He'd need to replace a lot of things, soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehhgck...this was really short....i hope it's enough.  
> John's just stressed don't hate him ;v;  
> he'll be nicer in Show Business

**Author's Note:**

> this whole plot is just plucked straight from The Girl in the Fireplace so if you know how that turned out, you know how this is gonna go whoops i'm UnOriginal


End file.
